


pizza pizza

by ghosthunter



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Semi-Epistolary, tip your delivery driver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 08:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: “Nobody ever has sex with their delivery driver,” Tom says.“Someone, somewhere has definitely had sex with their delivery driver,” Chandler says.





	pizza pizza

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/tom_wilso/status/951180190000013312), aka the whip/lil steve fic i've been threatening to write since january. thanks to jarka for beta. HAPPY GAME DAY.

It starts the way most things do: as a joke.

Tom’s got a cold and Chandler’s getting over one, hunkered down together on the couch under their own respective piles of blankets, stoned out of their minds on cough syrup. If pressed, Tom’s not sure he even remembers what they were watching that started the conversation.

“Nobody ever has sex with their delivery driver,” Tom says.

“Someone, somewhere has definitely had sex with their delivery driver,” Chandler says. He sounds very sure of it, but he also sounds very nasal. Tom looks at him, and his eyes aren’t even open.

“No,” Tom says. He scrunches over in his blankets until his head is on Chandler’s thigh. “They’re never hot, either. It’s always some high school boy. Pet my hair.”

“I’m not your mom,” Chandler says.

“My mom didn’t get me sick,” Tom says. “You did.”

“No,” Chandler says, but he rests his hand on Tom’s head, his fingers scratching gently. “You don’t get to blame this on me. Beags was patient zero.”

“You brought it home,” Tom says.

“We both brought it home,” Chandler says.

“No, my line was healthy,” Tom says. Chandler makes a noise that would’ve been a snort if he hadn’t been dying of a cold. Tom’s phone starts ringing, and he groans loudly as he sits up to answer it. “Someone will come down.”

“Not it,” Chandler says.

“I am _dying_ ,” Tom tells him. His eyes are glazed and he sniffles pathetically.

“Rock paper scissors,” Chandler says. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Tom huffs.

“Fine,” Tom says.

They shoot three times and Chandler loses, and has to pry himself up off the couch to go downstairs to meet the delivery driver, because while it’s great that their apartment building is pretty secure and all, it’s ridiculous that they can’t get food delivered right to their door when they’re dying, no matter how many times they tell the front desk that yes, they want the delivery person sent straight up.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and the driver will be hot,” Chandler hears Tom say as he closes the door behind him.

The delivery driver is not hot.

 

Chandler’s phone rings from his back pocket while he’s standing in line at the cash register at Target. It’s Tom.

“Hey,” Tom says. “If I call in food will you pick it up on your way home?”

“Yeah,” Chandler says. “Just let me know where?”

“I was just thinking pizza,” Tom says.

“Extra lazy, I like it,” Chandler says.

“I’ll order you a salad, princess,” Tom says. “You want the usual?”

“Yeah. Let me know when they tell you it’ll be ready and I’ll swing by and pick it up,” Chandler says.

“Cool,” Tom says, and hangs up.

Chandler checks out and heads for the car, dumping his bags into the trunk. Once he’s got the car started, he checks his phone for the message from Tom.

_Order’s in your name. Should be ready in 30. Thanks dude._

Chandler looks at the time, mentally calculating how much he still needs to kill before he can actually pick up the food.

Then he has an idea.

_You’re welcome Tom. Thank you for your order._  
_Delivery charge $5.99_  
_Total: TBD  
_Estimated Delivery: 3:07pm__

____

__

_____ _

The message comes up as read almost immediately, then Tom’s string of cry-laughing emoji. He laughs to himself then puts the car in drive and heads out. He still has a few more minutes to kill before he gets to the restaurant, and takes the time to pull through the Starbucks drive through and grab coffee for both of them.

He pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant and texts Tom again.

_Update: Lil Steve is picking up order._

He shoves his phone into the pocket of his sweatshirt and heads inside. He still has to wait a few minutes, because while he and Tom get food from this place all the time, he’s pretty sure it’s never been ready in the timeframe they’ve been told once the entire time they’ve been ordering from there. Tom says it’s years, but the food is good enough that it doesn’t matter.

He swipes his card and gets the food and heads back to the car.

His text from Tom says, _The front desk will send you up Lil Steve. Thanks._ Even though both of them know that half the time the desk won’t send people up, or the delivery guys just flat out refuse. Tom and Chandler play a lot of rock paper scissors for who has to go downstairs and get food.

He texts Tom back.

_Updated: Lil Steve will be arriving soon with your order._

It only takes a few minutes to get home, which is one of the perks of ordering from that particular restaurant. Chandler sends a couple more messages to Tom before grabbing the food, their coffees, and his shopping bags and heading up to their apartment. 

_Lil Steve has arrived with your order._

and

_Total: $23.10_  
_Rate:_  
_Tip: 10% 20% 50%_

____

____

He knocks on the door instead of using his keys to let himself in. It takes longer than he would have expected, but Tom finally answers the door in his underwear, his hair damp from the shower. It’s unexpected, and Chandler’s mouth goes dry.

“Hey Lil Steve,” Tom says, his mouth twisting up in a smirk.

“Am I the best looking delivery guy you’ve ever had?” Chandler asks him. Tom tips his head back when he laughs.

“Oh, by far,” he says, and reaches out, taking the food from Chandler.

Chandler follows Tom through the apartment to the kitchen with the coffees and his Target bags. Chandler leaves the coffee on the counter and turns to head to his own room, but Tom grabs him by the wrist.

“Hey,” Tom says.

“Yeah?” Chandler asks.

“What if I wanna be the first person in real life to hook up with my hot delivery driver?” Tom asks. Chandler raises an eyebrow at him.

“This is for sure why they don’t let delivery guys come up to our apartment,” Chandler says.

“You’re the only delivery guy I’ve ever hit on,” Tom says.

“It was a pretty good line,” Chandler says. Tom’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist. “You complimented me and everything.”

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” Tom says.

Chandler nods, and Tom leans in. Chandler lets his shopping bags drop to bring his arms up around Tom, to let Tom crowd into his space, to let Tom back him up against the kitchen cabinets. Tom’s hands are firm at Chandler’s hips, holding him in place as Tom’s tongue pushes past Chandler’s lips.

It’s not hours, it’s not even minutes, and Chandler pulls away, flushed and breathing hard. “Dinner’s gonna get cold. Coffee’s gonna get cold.”

“We have a microwave,” Tom says.

Chandler laughs, then hoists himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, tugging Tom in between his knees.


End file.
